


Distract Me (I just shot 3 men in the head)

by Hawkbringer



Category: Kuroshitsuji (2014), Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Canon - Movie, Ciel mentioned as Shiori's great-grandfather, Clothed Sex, Cognitive Dissonance, Coitus Interruptus, Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Everybody dies but not everybody lives - philosophically speaking, F/M, Frottage, I left in the japanese dont sue me, Kissing, Loud Sex, Masochism, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Present Tense, Sebastian Michaelis is patient and caring and kind, Sebastian muses on societal change, Shiori doesnt want her nipples touched at all, Shiori mentally separates herself from Kiyoharu, and nothing else he's just a sweetheart in this one, call my name and make me real, childlike shiori, distracted, female pronouns for Shiori, having your sexual boundaries disrespected is a real mood-killer folks, once named, possibly hints of multiple-personality-disorder if you squint, pronoun obscurity on purpose, sensory deprivation kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:54:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23315734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: Shiori first shoots someone. It rattles her mental state badly, so Sebastian is pressed to take extraordinary measures to bring back his master from the child-like shell left behind. (movie-canon only)
Relationships: Genpou Shiori/Sebastian Michaelis
Kudos: 6





	Distract Me (I just shot 3 men in the head)

He falls. 

Assorted minions flinch, hands over their heads, glancing wildly around for the source of the shot that dropped their boss.

A silent figure steps out of a shadow, a second shadow sliding only barely out of the darkness after. The hand holding the gun is shaking and its bullets seem to be rattling in their chambers like restless ghosts. But they are not, and when that hand raises the gun again and two more anonymous men fall in quick succession and the others flee, (because the butler all in black is /catching/ all the bullets they shoot at his comrade,) it is the butler who has to place a hand over the barrel and lower it gently. The hand holding it is not shaking anymore and that, more than anything, is cause for concern.

"Bocchan?" rings out in the deathly silence of the deserted warehouse. The drugs are here - he will ascertain it in a moment and they will be dealt with according to the Queen's wishes - but his first priority is always his master and at the moment....

A cotton-clad hand comes up to brush very softly against the shooter's forehead, but gets smacked away before contact is made.

"Daijoubu da!" the killer bites out, despite the tight shoulders that put obvious lie to the words. "I just..." A glance down at the gun with its empty chambers, but the hand still isn't shaking. "I think we should go home now."

"Certainly, bocchan. Shall we return on the morrow to verify the amount of the drug shipments for Her Majesty's report?"

"Her...? Oh. No, you can... do that right now, Sebastian, can't you?" He nods, face subtly pitying. "Then do it. Get it all down and then... take me home. The...faster way." The killer speaks of the method Sebastian has of sprinting over the rooftops in bare minutes that would take hours to walk. He is a devil of butler, after all.

The killer stumbles subtly against the nearest tower of splintery wooden boxes, putting out a hand for stability, then sinks to the floor, legs splayed out gracelessly in a manner that speaks to Sebastian of nothing but pure shock. 

He flits around the boxes, writing down the details in a small notebook from his breast pocket, and returns to his master's side inhumanely quickly, a span of minutes the killer has lost, somewhere between the echoes of shots and the blurs of the butler's too-fast movements.

"Bocchan?" The mass of black overhead offers a hand. It is grasped, and they both stand. Ever the dutiful butler, Sebastian puts his hands beneath his master's knees and back and lifts. There are no witnesses, but only the most astute would have seen anything more than a blur of black as the pair vacate the premises.

*****

The killer's head falls back against a truly sumptuous pillow, but there is not a bit of tiredness in the upturned face. The gun has been put away, disassembled into innocuity, now useful only as a small club. The deadly efficiency of the act swirls behind the shooter's eyes, how easy it was to separate the bullets from the revolving chamber, the pin from the barrel. Almost as easy as pulling the trigger.

"They're dead, Sebastian." The butler looks up with an affected innocent expression from where he is fussing with clothing on the other side of the room. His face asks the question perfectly well by itself, so the shooter responds, "I shot them. They're dead now." 

He straightens, taking a slightly deeper breath than usual, and approaches the bed, sensing his master's need to 'talk it out.'

"They'll never walk again. Never talk again. Never... never see again." Arms tighten around drawn-up knees. "I wish..." A huffed laugh. "I wish /I/ could... never see again. They didn't blindfold me, you know that, Sebastian?" He hadn't but does not let his face change. "Didn't even bother to put me in a corner where I /wouldn't/ see. I wonder... Did they /want/ me to!?" His charge is becoming hysterical and Sebastian's lips thin minutely. He wants to point out the hypocrisy of having a murder ordered instead of committed oneself, how the difference is paper-thin, and he is just the pawn in this game, not to blame for his actions, taken under orders-- 

His charge is sobbing dryly, hiccups that drag shudders from the slim frame upon the bed, but not in any way Sebastian finds appealing. "I guess we'll never know, huh!? Are /they/ dead? Did Aunt kill them too? Did /he/ give them orders or did he just---" A pause. It drags out into a full-on awkward silence but Sebastian does not speak. Not till he hears the words...

"No." The word emerges shaky, and its speaker's lips twist in distaste to hear it, and so repeats, "No!" in firmer voice that warms Sebastian's borrowed heart. "We /will/ find him. We will /torture him/. We will /get/ my answers and then we will /kill him/!" Two eyes, colors mismatched, glare daggers at the manservant that stands mere feet away, a satisfied smile fluttering about his mouth, not yet settled. "And /then/, Sebastian! And then you shall have my soul."

That satisfied smile makes a swift dive and alights fully on Sebastian's lips, which widen and part, his affirmation whispered between them, exposing teeth that haven't made up their minds to be flat or pointed just yet. "Yesss, my lord," comes the welcome hiss, servile as demanded by his brat of a master.

Satisfied, the stone-faced master nods once, then rolls over, muffling the next words into near-unintelligibility. "Sebastian, this is an order. Act befittingly as my contracted butler and make me forget that I just shot 3 men in the head." 

That was rather a lot to take in from what was, in reality, a series of muttered grunts, but if he could not do this much at least, what kind of butler would he be?

With a shake of his head to throw back the trailing ends of his hair (which his master forbade him to cut without permission), Sebastian puts his arms out in front of him with a flourish, steps up to the immobile form sprawled over the mattress, and places both hands on his master's shoulders.

"Bocchan?" he queries, to test the waters. Befittingly, yes, but as /whose/ butler?

He gets a head rolled back and forth as a response. Negative, then.

"Kiyoharu-sama?" 

The head roll repeats, equally vigorously. A smile spreads across his features and he leans forward, letting his weight shift onto his hands as his face approaches his master's ear, intending to whisper into it.

"/Shiori./" 

It is very soft, almost hissed, but too reverent for a curse. His master is thankful he did not tack on the diminutive 'kun' to the end of it, as he did once. With any luck, the lesson sank in after the first time.

The dark-haired head lifts, and turns toward the sound of his voice, so close, so /achingly/ close, but not touching. The smile is still curling his lips when Shiori catches a glimpse of them, paired with his retreating face. 

His impudence grates on her nerves, her smooth-skinned face twisting near the eyes. She won't let him get away with /that/, teasing her aurally like that and then attempting to retreat to a proper distance. Shiori rolls abruptly onto her back and thrusts both arms at him. One hand catches in his hair, another in his coat lapel. 

She has managed to surprise him, she notes as his eyebrows fly upwards and his body descends with the pull of her hands. 

He could, of course, catch himself before his body made full contact with hers, but he does not, because, since she seems upset at his distance, she must wish for him to be closer, after all. She confirms it with a mumbled, but perfectly clear, "Come /down/ here, Sebastian."

He allows his borrowed body to fall against the mattress, and drops to his knees at its edge to spare himself the awkward slide down he would otherwise have had, his chest between her legs. Her grip loosens as he slides away, so she shifts both hands to his hair and tries to frown as she pulls at it. "Not down that far!" she grumps, hands pulling at him while she refuses to sit up, on the principle that it should be /him/ doing all the work, anyway. 

One hand brushes the edge of his ear as she claws aimlessly, self-indulgently, at his hair, and just because she can, she grabs the edge of it and tugs, just to see what he'll do. He doesn't wince, which is no fun, so she digs her fingers back into his hair, pulling him upward from the base of his neck. 

A smile spreads over his face at her adorable (in his eyes) antics, and her brow lowers and she snorts. 

"I prefer the surprised expression," she informs him blandly with eyebrows raised, stabbing his chest with her knees. He /still/ doesn't react to the goading, but he twitches his eyebrows higher for effect and opens his mouth slightly. It doesn't look at all realistic and she resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him. "Yes, that one. More or less." 

"I shall endeavor to keep it on, then, for my /master/." And that one word soothes the ruffled feathers of her pride, as it always has, because Shiori has never been /anyone's/ master, /Kiyoharu/ is the one with control of the Earldom, the manor, the company, the numberless other servants. Shiori has nothing. Nothing but /him./ 

Sometimes, if she pretends hard enough, it feels like it's enough. 

It's that feeling she's after as she nudges him more gently with her knees, directing him like a horse. "Come up here," she orders like a concession, and he complies, raised-eyebrows expression settling into something more expectant than surprised, but he refuses to lower them. It's going to be a fight to /get/ him to lower them, but he /will/, since she hasn't /ordered/ them to stay up. Distracting him will be a challenge, and she bites her lip, imagining what /he'd/ look like, panting. 

A smile flirts with her mouth and it looks so wrong on her face, the challenge-accepted smirk, in this situation, when she had said /she/ wanted to be distracted, that Sebastian blinks a few times purposefully, dragging her attention back to his visage, poised above her as he is. He shifts, reminding her with the sound of fabric dragging over fabric, that he is hovering above her, awaiting only her command to fulfill her every whim. 

She closes her eyes to listen to the sound of his coattails against her trousers leg, to feel his body heat, inescapable so close to him. He is so /hot/, every time he's touched her, he's inhuman, scorching, and it's been useful, to know how close he was by skin-sense alone. Now it's simply a way to distract herself, as all of this has been, will be. Until the day she can't run anymore. /By that point, I may not even /want/ to anymore,/ she thinks in passing and gives a huff of laughter at the thought. 

But the future does not concern her, so with her focus on the here and now, she opens her mouth and lifts her chin, eyes still closed. She holds herself there, trusting, so exquisitely trusting that Sebastian cannot help himself, and complies with the unstated demand. His arms shift minutely, brushing one gloved hand against her jaw, aligning himself, before he opens his mouth and welcomes her tongue. 

They dance, and the sounds are familiar, oh, so achingly familiar, the many, many subtle variations on wet smacking that Sebastian knows from all his many years amongst these humans, contracted and free, and with this one, the /sounds/ are no different, but the /confidence/ is worth marveling at. Despite that time he left her to die on a rooftop, potentially very violently, in close proximity to a live bomb, she trusts him absolutely. With her whole being. With her /soul/. And that is the crux of the matter. 

He smiles against her lips, very, very briefly, then returns to counting her teeth as she prods at him. Perhaps she thinks now that he has saved her life once that she will never be imperiled again? Well, that is true - he /is/ saving her, body and soul, for his own future enjoyment, and if anyone attempts to end her life without her consent, he will be there to ensure they do not succeed. 

But as for himself? Well... His face will be the last thing she sees, he will /make sure/ of it. But perhaps that comforts her in some way. 

Ah, humans and their romantic ideals of co-dependence! It's a weakness in them, in every one of them, searching for love, for connection, among the others of their species. Although - he has to concede - humans are more likely to find other humans reasonably tolerable, than demons are to find other demons. He wants to huff at the idea of a lasting partnership with another demon, the kind cemented not by elaborate contracts and loopholes, but by trust, and cannot imagine it. Perhaps Shiori would tell him he simply hasn't found the right demon yet. 

He really does want to laugh at that and redoubles his efforts with his tongue and his gentle hands. He hasn't been to Hell for decades because it's so much /less/ than the human world. So much more empty and slow. Everything is slower, /life/ is slower, because there, what's the point? It's not like there are any deadlines after death, or if you'll never die.

The human world is frantic, by comparison, and gets more so every year. Oh, there are pockets where farmers dote on their patches of soil and the plants that grow from them. But speed is an infection that has caught hold on this Earth and it /spreads/. Sebastian feels dizzy watching it, energized in all the best of ways. It's a cynic's playground, the speed at which they live, kill, and die. The disrespect for the elderly is a new phenomenon, but understandable; as though they could avoid their end by separating themselves from the physical evidence of their demise! As though they feared /contamination/. In utter denial that they've all been infected by death, every single one of them! And they call it a curse! 

Every fruit rots, and its beauty is all the more precious for its fleeting nature. He wishes he could have convinced her of that - she may have been spared this temporary regression into childhood at the simple killing of one man. 

A few men. 

Several. 

/Semantics/, he chides himself and settles more fully onto her body. /One cannot waste time arguing semantics, when there is such evanescence to enjoy./ Every immortal being he has ever met agrees on /that/, no matter if they disagree on what enjoyment entails...

He allows a pleased groan to fall from his lips as he bows his spine and peels his lips from hers with one last sinfully familiar wet smack. 

"How do you want me?" he murmurs huskily, his free hand tracing her neck, between her shoulder and her jaw.

"Just like this," she murmurs back, not whispering, just feeling no need to raise her voice as the intended recipient is mere inches away. "Coat off, and shoes. Keep the gloves." Inhuman flexibility makes short work of the coat. The shoes take a bit longer, and as he pulls the gloves back into place smartly, he nearly startles at the feel of her hands on his chest. She looks up when he tenses. 

"Excellent," she tells him, and he has no idea what she's talking about, but doesn't much care, as she follows the declaration with hands beneath his arms, pulling him down against her body and holding him there. 

He lifts his hips from her body, attempting to splay them open over her stomach, but she throws one leg out, interrupting the movement quite effectively and he almost loses his balance. 

He allows it to happen, and a split-second later, remembers the surprised expression he really should be wearing, and adopts that as well. It is a small and condescending smile that paints her lips at that, but he has had masters who smiled even less, so he treasures it all the same. 

Granted, the only one that comes to mind is her great-grandfather, so he supposes there's something to be said for family resemblance in that respect. Remembering his previous master, Sebastian smiles warmly and kisses her forehead. She resents that, as he's not cooperating and grunts, bends her assaulting leg back farther, and twists it over his hips and his surprised look is suddenly less feigned as she does the same with the other one and he is forced to fold his legs back at the knee to remain on the bed. 

The cradle of his hips against hers feels like /coming home/ and she sighs, deep and world-weary as she presses them together with her thin legs. Shiori /would/ be a middle-aged woman at heart, Sebastian thinks to himself, then wonders if he can get away with moving them both a bit farther up. 

"Master," he sighs against her neck, laving a stroke of his tongue over it on impulse. Fingers dig into his back and release, so he continues, "May I lay you properly over the bed? It would be more comfortable for me as well," he adds, swinging his lower legs in the air like a schoolgirl. 

She spots his ridiculous waving heels over his back and lifts her eyebrows at him as if to say, /Really? You went that far just to prove a point?/ She sighs, affecting world-weariness as she replies, "I suppose...if you insist." 

He smiles, a curve of lips and closed eyes and says simply, "I do." 

Not a second later, they are both repositioned with their heads near the pillows and their socked feet at the foot. Surprise waddles triumphantly across Shiori's face before she shoves it away with an unimpressed twist of lips. She, like her predecessor, tends to get irritated at un-called for displays of his super-human powers. She quite liked them, even took them for granted, in situations where they furthered her goals. The irritation is about the only expression Sebastian can evoke upon her face with any regularity, and the banter is familiar to them both. Exceptions have a way of upsetting their equilibrium, and he has does it now to ground her, bring /his master/ back from the small childish headspace she'd fallen into.

Quietly proud of his handiwork, able to evoke that expression under these circumstances, Sebastian raises a hand and sets to petting her hair as he would one of his cats until her ruffled feathers flatten. Irritation is just a passing distraction for this master, after all, and she never stays there for long. Quite unlike her predecessor, in that respect, he muses, contemplating the softness of her hair in a purely abstract way, unable to feel it through the gloves. He smiles when her brow smooths and her shoulders settle back against the pillows.

Once she has calmed, he lowers his hips back into hers, stretching his legs back behind him toward the foot of the bed and encourages her legs to wrap back around his hips with his now-free hands. 

Uncomfortable with the intimacy of putting her arms around his shoulders or his chest, she mutters, "Your arms," and makes 'gimme' motions with her held-up palms. Once he gets the hint, she takes his hands, interlaces their fingers and folds her elbows, watching him as he rears back and studies her. 

The surprised expression has fallen from his face and the distant, almost empty look on his face reminds her too strongly of his /age/, his hundreds, perhaps, thousands of years of experience that she must pale so strongly in contrast to. 

It incenses her utterly, as she refuses to feel belittled or afraid by his nature, despite how often she herself likes to forget all its implications. She wants to snarl, wants to demand his attention back from whatever century it has gone off to, but thinks better of it. So childish, to demand all of his time, all of his effort... 

He came to her when she was /ten/ and now they're /in bed/ together. Shouldn't she be convincing him that she has grown? That he should see her as more of an adult, more of an equal? But that is utterly impossible, as he will always be several hundred years her senior, and will not die, either, apart from that. 

Humans, he has said so many times, are amusing with their futile struggles. Like ants, to the greater cosmic beings of the universe. But he is not among /them/ now, not able to sneer and laugh at their pitiful screams, because he has just taken his prey, his eventual /meal/, to bed, in an attempt to, what, /calm/ it? 

Why? Why do something so futile? 

Because she had ordered it, and she was, at the very least, /not boring/.

Resolved, she shouts in his face, as her hands have been restrained and she cannot slap him. "Oi! Where the hell are you that's more interesting than here, huh? Seriously, how many times a day do you get to bed your master? You're missing out on 'the now,' Sebastian. This is an order - pay closer attention!" It is the flare of her will pulsing through his hand that brings him back fully. Her shout had brought his eyes to her face but they were dead, cold, the creature that inhabited them a thousand miles away. 

He blinks, and that creature is home again, home to pour her tea and poke fun at her and dress her in men's clothes and fuck her into the mattress if she damn well chose. Relief melts her angry tension and she covers it with a rolling of her hips. "Are you /comfortable/ yet?" she asks, face clearly indicating she thinks this concern should be beneath him, then reinforces that notion with her next order. "Make me come from this rubbing alone!" It flares in her eye and he sees it this time, the faint white ring lighting as it sears the air between them, the power of the order, though one of her weaker ones, pounding in his blood. 

There really was no way to describe the sensation of a true order, he muses, hissing out "Yes, my /master/," and tightening his grip on her hands. Teeth grit, he stretches the long muscles in his legs, applying friction between her legs and against his cock, wondering if she would prefer it to be hard. A true order is a dizzying thing, a hounding, a howling in the very back of the mind, an absolutely maddening shriek that will not /quit/ until assuaged. Sebastian is a masochist in this regard, too. 

He /loves/ it. 

The content matters not to this over-stimulated portion of his psyche, though it does to others. Just the /feeling/ of someone else's want pouring into his mind, forcing it, shaping it, like a pair of truly inescapable handcuffs... it is heavenly. Quite literally, in fact, as angels are messengers of God who have no time for free will as they are ordered around every second of every day - the general background buzz of purpose pounding through their veins. 

In this, his master was wrong. Demons were not once angels. 

They have to /search/ for it, that feeling of belonging, of purpose. And if that wasn't enough, they're saddled with this hunger for souls /and/ immortality - but despite all these injustices, things that make Sebastian drawn to creatures like himself who have no love for God, Sebastian considers that to be a shinigami must be even worse - they must watch from afar. They can get only a voyeuristic thrill, seeing humans live out their lives. Their purpose is to collect souls at the moment of death, never having known anything about them in life, never having seen the humans' true beauty, the poignancy of their struggle. Dying visits all of them, but truly /living/? Very few.

With his master gasping and shivering beneath him, legs clamped tightly round his waist, Sebastian decides in that moment that he knows a thing or two about truly living.

He opens his mouth and lets out truly lewd moans of his own, arching his back and angling his stirring shaft into the clothed crease between her legs. Her hands around his prevent the use of fingers which would be far more effective, but orgasm is 90% mental anyway, for humans, so Sebastian focuses on that. 

His legs suddenly cramp and he is a second away from willing the weakness away, as he does to bullet-holes (if given a little warning, of course), but decides to run with it and heaves himself up to kneeling, Shiori's legs still around his waist, pulling her hips up far over her head. He pulls her hands towards his hips and her upper body follows, leaving the mattress. She untangles their fingers all of a sudden and wraps her hands around his neck, not as though she means to kill, guiding his chin with her thumbs to collide once again with hers. 

Sebastian closes his eyes and pants against her roving mouth as she presses it frantically across his cheeks and nose, not neglecting either the rubbing of their clothed hips, jerking herself up and down gracelessly but efficiently with the legs around his waist. 

The /sensations/ of being human, oh, how he /revels/ in them! So heightened with the loss of one. Unable to 'turn off' his hearing that easily, Sebastian tries, however, and lets his hands roam across his master's back, loving the malleability of the back of her neck in particular. 

A tight grip there has her head lolling back and he opens his eyes to see her flushed face, her reddened lips, her shoulders heaving with her panted breaths. His face draws in as if in pain and he lowers her body in a graceful movement back to the matress, pulls one leg up over his hips and doubles his efforts at thrusting. "Ahh, ahh... Shiori! Ahnn.. Your voice!" he huffs out, his hands firm against her hips, her arms thrown back of her own accord somewhere over her head. 

"What....haa... What voice?" she manages in return, eyes rolled high up in her head, expression blank but not for lack of pleasure. 

"Want to hear you..Ahh... Your voice..." is all he manages, but she gets the general idea. 

"My voice? Ohh.. You want to ha-hear me, Sebastian?" 

"Ooohhh...yesss... Say my name," he replies, degenerating into near-hisses. 

"Aah," she huffs in affirmation. "Haah...haah!" She voices the syllables with increasing volume as if preparing for a larger exclamation and Sebastian is not ashamed to say that his prick twitches in anticipation. "/Sebastian!/" she shouts, not quite loud enough to be heard on the other side of the manor. He stills for a moment from its sheer power, from the note of /summoning/ in it, then hisses at himself for failing to follow orders and thrusts all the quicker for it. 

"Yess....Ohh! Sebastian! /Harder!/" 

"Yeh-hess, ma-hai, lo-hord," Sebastian responds brokenly, not ceasing his thrusting this time. His master lets out a long, hitching, appreciative moan that degenerates into repetitions of one-word orders and his name and various vowels with trailing ends. Sebastian starts swiveling his hips at one point, rolling them in a circle, which seems to be much appreciated. 

Their sounds grow in volume until Shiori loses all memory of why she should be at all quiet and that tipping point tumbles Sebastian over the edge of a cliff and he orgasms - he manages to hold back the spurt of fluid at the last second - shuddering atop his master, who simply kicks him in the back as he slows. She shouts once and he comes back to himself in time to avoid another bruise by picking up the pace again. If Shiori had had the presence of mind to notice it, she would have appreciated the absence of extra sticky fluids against her nether regions. But she is too far gone for that.

Sebastian dutifully keeps thrusting, long after when a simple human's legs would have collapsed from overuse and tries not to bemoan the specificity of the order that prevents him from using his fingers. 

Struck by that idea, Sebastian rears up and takes one hand from his master's hip and slides it over her stomach, up to her chest. Her nipples are likely to be /very/ sensitive, from being in that binding for so long every day. He /is/ right, but not in the way he wishes to be. 

At his fingers' first brush over a peaked nipple, his master screams, "Stop! Stop, stop, stop," and pulls her arms down from over her head to cover her chest. 

"No," she adds childishly, arms now crossed over her chest and hands in her armpits. Sebastian wants to sigh, but kisses her forehead instead. 

"Okay," he assures her, and dutifully puts both hands back on her hips and goes back to rubbing against her clothed, slick-drenched sex. His nearly uninterrupted moans help the tension bleed back out of her body and her arms eventually return to a luxuriating pose over her head, but she does not return to moaning her own pleasure, and after a short while, her head turns away. 

He places more kisses over her lips and neck, but seems to have lost her favor and thus he pauses, making her roll her head back to face at him. He regards her with forced kindness and offers, "Would my master like to be on top?" 

Her eyebrows shoot up and she rebutts instantly, "What nonsense are you spouting?" Her pronunciation is once more flawless and his shoulders slump a little, knowing he will have to work now to get her back up to those heights he'd had her at only minutes ago. 

"Well..." He seems to think better of explaining. "Like this," he replies, placing his hands back on her hips and rolling both of them over, scootching, once he has done so, towards the center of the bed again. 

Laying over her butler, Shiori sits up, wet crease pressing into the cradle of his hips from a different angle. She rolls her hips experimentally, and cringes when the unfamiliar action pulls on some muscle, sore from the earlier scuffle. Sebastian's hands drift up her legs and anchor themselves at the tops of her thighs. "Master, simply hold yourself up. I shall take care of the rest," he soothes, before immediately beginning to thrust. 

The protest dies on her lips as she sees quite explicitly what having Sebastian 'take care of it' means, and her surprise melts into acceptance without her eyebrows lowering. She opens her mouth and tilts her head to the side momentarily and lets her hands slide forward over Sebastian's torso, only a white shirt covering him without the coat on. 

She sucks her lower lip between her teeth momentarily and ponders over undoing the buttons, just to /see/, but Sebastian sees her looking and distracts her by throwing his head back and rather unabashedly moving /her/ hips back and forth with the effort of his arms. Interested in how long he could continue that, Shiori is thus distracted. 

She watches raptly as his face contorts in all sorts of interesting ways, as he performs for her pleasure for the next half hour, at which point she screams for him to stop and hammers her hips down against his cock at an angle which bruises him slightly, but brings her to orgasm. And Sebastian would gladly endure a thousand similar bruisings to see /that/ expression on his master's face again, to feel /that/ quivering in the body poised above his, that slump of the overburdened shoulders as that body collapses so trustingly against his chest. 

And while he is both a devil and a butler, he is unable to do anything, in that moment, except smile and blink and breathe and comb her hair back into place with his gloved fingers, and let her sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Written 4th of October 2014.
> 
> HEY, THIS ONE HAS A GOOD ENDING, WHOOO! I almost never write hetero sex scenes, and yet, I have confidence in this one!
> 
> Part of the impetus for writing this was that I disagreed with her characterization in NY:LON, one of the only other fics on this entire archive tagged with 'genpou shiori', where she was more of a cold 'fire-lord-Azula-style' mastermind. Since writing this, there have appeared several other fics with Shiori, and many of them are very in-character and very good indeed, which I am quite glad of! My Shiori here is probably not AS in character as she could be, but I leaned on the vulnerability aspect that introverts like me get to express when at home and safe from the prying eyes and expectations of the world. In the movie, her smiles stuck with me a lot more than her violence, or her genius. And the end-credits-song. That song stuck with me for /years/.
> 
> (...full disclosure, I had been spelling her name as Shiroi this whole-ass time and I had to use the replace-all option and I'm mad)


End file.
